tales of the supernatural
by mexican Nightcrawler
Summary: this is a story about a young boy going through hard times


"Tales of the supernatural inspire me

"Tales of the supernatural inspire me." said the brave young man as his eyes quivered and bounced along the room. As if he was searching for a way to reach the shore from an endless ocean.  
The door creaking as it opened, allowing the freezing wind to extinguish the warming fire. The moisture of his uniform drip, drip, drips on the already icy tile as if to stop this man from speaking. His numb hands force his fingers to open the envelope in his pocket. After resisting the envelope tore open, revealing a damp and tattered letter. All around was quiet for all knew the context of the letter. Their very silence brought anger, shock, and disbelieves so great the room shook with trauma. Suddenly a chilling wind of tears hit each of them one-by-one.

America's closest alleys have proclaimed war against their long time friends. Taking advantage of our shared information and leaving all our surprises and secrets to tarnish in the fires of their knowledge. Chaos roamed along the streets hidden in the creeks and pipes infecting all with a plague of fear.

The war had just begun and the military so desperate for solders, suggests a draft. Not only crushing families across the country but their respect for the nation. The draft is finalized and men unfit for the front lines are forced to answer the call of duty.

The integrity of this boy grabbed his mind like a parasite. As a marionette to his emotions, his hand proceeded to raise to the sky. Tumbling now, an unknown force drains the strength from his hand and body. His eyes water as the strangling force clouds his vision until he feels nothing but the cold wood floor.

The piercing screams paralyzed his body as much as the firm grip across his neck. "You think your fit for this?" stabbed his ears in the darkness. "You're not even fit to shine my shoes" said the solder in charge. Tomas Luna was transferred to the barracks, cleaning and washing for all who battle for the country.

Sirens blared as flashing red lights transformed the water to blood. Gun shots Shattered windows as cadets ready their rifles. The screams of pain overwhelm Tomas as much as the wheezing sound of blood entering punctured lungs. As orders to infiltrate shout among British solders, Tomas quivers into a small dark closet. Voices near his dark sanctuary as he cringes to the sound of footsteps. The very beats on the floor match his slowing heartbeat.

His mind overtaken with fear; leaves him stiff. The door creaks as a barrage of smashes and bangs break the wood. As Tomas was led outside the camp. He realized the moon was the only thing left watching over him. Of all the eager militant young men, none were left alive. As they repose with blood pools surrounding them.

Thrown in a cell he hears the screeching voice, now soft and a small murmur of whispers and mumbles. A broken down man lay before him, eyes swollen, lips seem to have been ripped open. Marks left by restraints and signs of resistance all around his hands and feet, leave a sense of longing. The desperation to heal his honor overtakes his wounds.

"Do you like the supernatural?" he whimpered. Thomas paused with words caught in his throat.  
"The best of men...protected, while the jokers of the world are sent to the hell they deserve". As blood trickles down his lips, tears join the blood and together pain and remorse rolled down the cheek of life.  
"The one thing we don't notice until the second we die is exactly how much we are inspired by the stories we hear as we were raised". These words drifted around the room; reaching Thomas only as the door swung open. So blinded by the lights was Thomas that he only watched as British solders walk in with restraints in hand and bad intentions in mind. Lifted as easily as a feather and as stiff as a rock he is taken to the next room.

Thomas lay on the floor with one eye under the door. The crack lets in a stream of light which allows him to maintain his sanity. Winching as he anticipates screams, his face turns stiff and emotionless. The next room is silent but a small SHINK of a blade in the distance. Like a leaking pipe, blood drips onto the freezing marble. Yells of frustration then buzzed around the solders. Hearing their anger and noticing his true quandary, young Thomas rushes to the darkest corner of his prison. As he shakes and quivers, he is once again blinded by the all-too-familiar light and taken away.

Thomas's now pail eyes had dropped to the floor as violent blood stains warn him of his fate. The memorable SHINK is heard once again as the newly polished blade sends chills down his spine. As they press the gauze across his mouth, his eyes burst and bounce around. His eyes now shake and jump around the room trying to catch the attention of something which would send him help. Before the gauze is tied on permanently, he takes a chance in which to say his last words. For they are the most important, realizing that his first words of war, would be his last of life. As he contemplates his final analysis of life he realizes he is stranded and the shore of his ocean will never be found.


End file.
